Summer  The Saving of Draco Malfoy
by Merrick Mayfair
Summary: "It was a hot afternoon, the last day of June, and the sun was a demon".  Draco Malfoy is on the run, following the death of Albus Dumbledore.  But who is the mysterious witch in the crimson robes, and what does she want with Draco?  Songfic.


**My first story. So please be gentle with me. It's sort of a song fic, and I suppose it's not really anything new, but this has been buzzing round my head for about six months, and it just wouldn't leave me alone. It starts shortly after the end of The Half Blood Prince, then wanders off in a rather different direction.**

**Rated T for some sexual references and language. Put it this way. My teenage daughter will read it, so it's not that bad.**

**As usual, to my great regret, I do not own any of JKR's amazing characters. I just borrow them to play with occasionally. Neither do I own the lyrics of Bobby Goldsboro's **_**Summer (The Very First Time) **_**which was the inspiration for this story**_**.**_

_It was a hot afternoon, the last day of June, and the sun was a demon_….

Under a sky the colour of sapphires the heat crawled over Diagon Alley like a living thing, smothering everything it touched in a breathless suffocating blanket. Those few brave souls that were foolhardy enough to venture out in the middle of the day clung to the scant shade, and cast longing glances at the burnt out and boarded up frontage of what had been Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. But Fortescue had "disappeared" in a Death Eater raid six months ago, and in these troubled times, no one was interested in re-starting something as frivolous as an ice cream shop.

_The crowds were afraid, one-ten in the shade, and the pavements were steaming…._

Inside the Leaky Cauldron everything was similarly quiet. Despite Tom's cooling charms the bar was still uncomfortably warm, and few were tempted to linger and talk, when who knows who might be listening. A few regulars dozed over their drinks and in the corner, shielded from view by the rickety staircase that led to the bedrooms, a hooded figure was get seriously stuck into a bottle of Tom's best Firewhisky. With his white blonde hair charmed an undistinguished shade of brown and his hood pulled well down to shield his face even his best friend would have had a hard time recognising the Slytherin Prince now. On the run from the Death Eaters as well as the Order of the Phoenix since the recent debacle on the top of the Astronomy Tower Draco Malfoy had little money, no friends and nowhere left to run; hence his current expedition into the bottom of a bottle.

Truth be told, He Who Must Not be Named's newest recruit was discovering that he had little stomach for life as a Death Eater. After all, how many seventeen year olds got to celebrate their coming of age by failing to murder a disarmed old wizard in cold blood. He had finally seen the reality of the life his father had brainwashed him into and he didn't like it – at all. With a sigh Draco downed the rest of the contents of his glass, and rested the cool surface against his pale cheek. What was the alternative? The Ministry would send him straight to Azkaban, and Potter and his little gang would AK him before he'd even had a chance to wave the white flag. No – there was no alternative. Draco Malfoy was going straight to hell on a hippogriff. If the Dark Lord let him live that long. A pale hand reached for the Firewhisky bottle, and as he did so he looked up from the table, and across the bar.

He hadn't heard the door, but he knew that she must have only just arrived. It was the sound of her footsteps on the wooden floor that had caused him to look wearily upwards. A woman was standing by the bar, talking softly to Tom. He smiled, nodded, and slipped a key over the bar; with a rustle of her lightweight silk robes the woman turned and headed for the stairs. She paused, barely a heartbeat, as warm honey coloured eyes met storm grey across the room; but then, with the barest nod of acknowledgement she moved on, leaving Draco to his misery.

_She was just walking by, when I looked in her eye, and I swore it was winking_

Her footsteps echoed across the ceiling, and Draco groaned softly, turning back to his bottle. And stopped, hand outstretched. Materialising on the stained wooden surface was a rose, a perfect damask rose, softly perfumed, it's silken petals the exact deep rich crimson of the mysterious witch's robes. Tied to the stem was a note – written in an elegant cursive hand were the words

"_Room Seven"…_

_xx00xx_

What was he doing? Draco thought, as he mounted the stairs. He didn't have the first idea who this woman was, for all he knew she was his deranged Aunt, under a glamour. If it was, he'd be crucioed before he'd even stepped through the door. Merlin and all Founders forbid she let her lapdog Greyback loose on him. Putting that horrifying image firmly to the back of his mind, Draco took a deep breath and knocked on the door of Room Seven, stepping back, startled as the door swung silently open.

The room was blissfully cool but full of sunlight as he stepped inside, blinking somewhat after the relative dimness of the bar and corridor. Despite staying at the Cauldron on many occasions, he'd never been into this room before, his parents preferred the slightly darker Room Nine for its views of the Alley, whereas this room looked across Muggle London. Nonetheless it was a large pleasant room, with a seating area at one end and a large curtained bed, in the centre.

"Good afternoon Draco." The woman's voice was soft and musical, but held a decisive note, clearly conveying that she was not some piece of fluff to be trifled with.

Immediately, he was on his guard, reaching for his wand. "How do you know my name?"

She emerged from a shadowed archway at the back of the room and stepped into the sunlight for the first time. A small smile played across her lips "I know many things Mr Malfoy. I know that you are no Death Eater, that you may be in need of a friend right now and perhaps…" her nose wrinkled as she came closer "a bath and a meal?"

He lowered his wand, looking down ruefully at his rumpled clothing and scowled, suddenly more the schoolboy than desperate fugitive. "I've been on the run for two weeks now, I don't think I've done too badly. _Scourgify_ is alright, but it's not quite the same as a hot shower"

"Please" she said with a smile "help yourself" she gestured back towards the archway. "In the meantime I will see what can be done about clean clothes - and a meal."

'_Food_' – with a grateful smile Draco pushed his suspicions aside, and headed for the shower.

The bathroom was spacious and old fashioned, with a big claw footed bath in the centre of the white tiled room. The shower above was more modern, but everything was clean and inviting. Best of all was the pile of thick fluffy towels, kept to the perfect temperature by a light warming charm. Shedding his greying muggle shirt and jeans Draco moved over to the mirror and winced at what he saw. His usually immaculate white blonde mane was now a non-descript mid brown and flopped any-which-way around his face, which was sorely in need of a shave. 'Hmm – blonde stubble' he thought, rubbing a calloused hand over his chin 'need to watch that, it could give me away'. He stepped back a little, and looked himself up and down. Never given to putting on weight, he was showing the evidence of a hard year, and two weeks living rough with little to eat. His ribs and hip bones were protruding significantly more than usual and his lean, Quidditch-honed body was decorated with now-yellowing bruises, relics of the recent fight at Hogwarts. Fortunately the _sectumsempra _wounds - inflicted, it seemed a lifetime ago, by Potter - were healed, although the scars across his chiselled abdomen were still livid against his pale skin. Unable to resist the lure of the big bath, he turned on the taps, filling the room with steam. Removing his underwear, he was preparing for a much needed soak, when he was startled by a knock on the door, followed by the voice of the witch.

"If you could pass out your clothing Mr Malfoy, I can get it cleaned for you". Securing a towel around his waist Draco obeyed. Meeting the witch in the doorway he felt her eyes running over his exposed torso, and was mortified to feel the heat burning in his face. Scooting back into the bathroom, he closed the door on her, a little faster than was perhaps polite. Leaning against the door, he groaned with embarrassment. "_Well done Malfoy. Very cool. One look from a witch and you're blushing and stuttering like a bloody __Weasley__ for Salazar's sake. I mean – I suppose you didn't quite slam the door in her face, but you weren't far off it. Slick Draco, very slick_." With a sigh he shed his towel, and sank his weary body into the tub with a moan of ecstasy. If this witch was going to kill him, at least he would die clean – and hopefully fed too.

It was a very different Draco that emerged, nearly an hour later, wrapped in one of the thick fluffy robes thoughtfully provided by the management. His hair still needed a cut, but it was, for now, back to its normal pale shade, he was clean, shaved and very _very_ hungry. Stepping cautiously into the bedroom, his nose was tickled by the tantalising aroma of the Leaky Cauldron's excellent catering, prompting his stomach to rumble in anticipation.

"Welcome back Mr Malfoy" the witch's voice, just behind his shoulder, made him jump. "I hope that you are feeling better." Reaching up, she brushed a lock of soft, damp hair away from his face, and smiled. "Much improved. I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. My name is Morrigan, and I am here to help you. I think at the moment that that is all you need to know."

_She was thirty one, I was seventeen  
I knew nothing about love, she knew everything  
So I sat down beside on the front porch swing  
And wondered what the coming night would bring_

She was standing close – much too close for the comfort of a teenage wizard – who was acutely aware that he was stark naked beneath his towelling robe. She was a little below medium height, now at his full height of six-one, her head barely reached his shoulder; slender but sweetly curvaceous. He could see the shimmer of deep auburn in her dark hair, which was twisted up, secured by an elaborate silver and garnet comb. She was older than him, for certain, perhaps in her early thirties, but her skin was flawless, with a soft sheen of gold. Below long lashed eyes the colour of warm honey her nose was dusted with freckles, which somehow made her beauty more approachable. More human. Draco realised that he had somehow forgotten how to breath, and was blushing like a fool again.

_Her shoulders were bare, and I tried not to stare, as I looked at her two lips_

He was unable to resist allowing his eyes to drop from her face, to her long slender neck, to the low, swelling neckline of her crimson silk robe. To the pendant, which lay on the soft tempting curve of her breasts, a magnificent garnet, engraved with a bird in flight.

"The crow" she said softly, "Totem of my namesake, the Celtic Goddess of War, Life and Death. It was the gift of a friend."

"A lover?" Draco didn't know where the question had come from. His brain seemed disconnected from the rest of him somehow, and the subtle musky sweetness of her perfume was playing hell with his concentration.

Morrigan quirked an eyebrow. "You are impertinent Mr Malfoy" she tapped him playfully on the nose. "But yes – a lover – once, a long time ago. He has passed on now." For a moment her eyes clouded with remembered sorrow. Then her face cleared, as Draco's stomach reminded him again that it was a long time since his last meal.

"But come, the stasis charm will not last indefinitely. You must eat." She gestured to the table, where a bowl of steaming soup, bread, cheese, fruit, and what looked suspiciously like his favourite apple pie and custard, were waiting for him. Morrigan retrieved her wand from the sleeve of her robes and pointed to an empty flagon. "Would you prefer Butterbeer, or Pumpkin Juice with your meal?"

The food was every bit as good as he had hoped, and Draco attacked it with a ferocity that would have rivalled Ron Weasley. His hostess left him in peace to eat, going down into the bar to speak to Tom once more. When she returned he was asleep on the sofa, sprawled over its inadequate length like a Great Dane puppy. Morrigan smiled, and used a levitation charm to transfer him from the sofa onto the much more appropriate sized, and comfortable, bed. Taking a book from the shelf she sat down quietly on the sofa. But she did not read. Instead she gazed thoughtfully out of the window, watching a soft summer evening descend upon the London skyline.

_xx00xx_

_Draco was dreaming. The screams of the crucioed, his Aunt's insane laughter, Greyback snarling and Voldemort's leering snakelike face and skeletal clasping fingers raced through his mind as he watched paralysed, unable to move. Suddenly he heard a soft voice echoing through his mind, calling his name. Then a hand was on his forehead, drawing him gently out of his dream, he opened his eyes to find Morrigan sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. She was bathing his forehead with something cool and soothing._

"You were having a nightmare"

Draco frowned, trying to collect his thoughts. "I know, I've had them a lot recently. It's why I haven't slept much. It's not much fun waking up screaming when you're on your own in a field somewhere. Speaking of which, you have been very kind, but I really should be on my way, if I could have my clothes back please"

Morrigan smiled "You're not going anywhere Draco. You need to rest, and get your head together. You can't keep running. Sooner or later the Death Eaters will find you. You're safe here though. I have warded this room against all comers." She laid a slender finger on his heated cheek "Even room service can't get in unless I let them."

Draco was flustered by her close proximity, the darkness in her eyes, and the sudden realisation that the belt of his robe had come undone during his nightmare, revealing rather more of him than he was entirely comfortable with. As he struggled to sort himself out, he became aware that Morrigan was watching his acute discomfort with an unfathomable expression. Bollocks – he was blushing _again_.

"Draco!" Morrigan's voice was suddenly husky "is this possible?"

He looked up, meeting her eyes, reluctantly

"Is this possible, that Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Sex God – is a _virgin?"_

'_Bollocks, bollocks and triple bollocks – rumbled!'_

If he was blushing before, now he was on fire….. "I've been busy" he muttered defensively "you know, headmasters to murder, dark lords to follow, prisoners to torture. Don't ask me where my bloody reputation came from. I think these girls just make things up to make themselves look good" Utterly humiliated, he examined the elaborate bedspread he was laying on, unable to look her in the eye, unable to bear the amusement that he knew would be there.

But she didn't laugh at him. Leaving the bed, with a flick of her wand, Morrigan closed the curtains, shutting out the darkening evening. Walking over to the other side of the room, she removed her pendent, shoes, and with a toss of her head, sent her piled up hair cascading around her shoulders. With a wave of her hand she lit the candles around the room, then held her hand out to Draco. Dazed but obedient, he left the bed and went to her.

How dark her eyes were suddenly, and the candlelight, playing across her face, threw her bone structure into sharp relief; she seemed exotic, mysterious, ageless, almost - he fancied - like The Morrighan after which she was named. Goddess of life and death. Mesmerised he watched a slender finger reach for his face, he shivered as it ran down his cheek, traced the hard line of his jaw, then down his neck to rest on the racing pulse at the base of his throat. Drawing a ragged breath he bent his head to kiss her…

_Then she looked at me, I heard her softly say,  
"I know you're young and don't know what to do or say,  
but stay with me until the sun has gone away,  
and I will chase the boy in you away._

_xx00xx_

The sun breaking through a chink in the curtains woke Draco Malfoy from the first dreamless sleep he had known for a long time – at least since he had been given that dreadful task by the Dark Lord. Sprawled naked, face down on the bed, the sheet twisted around his hips, his face buried in a pillow still scented with the perfume of her hair and skin.

_We sat on the sand – and the boy took her hand  
But I saw the sun rise as a man…_

Groaning, he sat up, suddenly aware of a number of definite, but very pleasant aches in various muscles hitherto unused and also that he was alone in the large curtained bed. Memory flooded back. She had taught him more in one night, than he could otherwise have learnt in a lifetime. Under her laughing and gentle instruction, he had learned unimaginable ways to please a woman, and in return, she had wrung pleasure from him in more ways than he had even dreamed possible. There had been no guilt, no shame, no embarrassment. Just her touch on him, her skin under his hands. A symphony of lips and hands and skin and utter, utter pleasure. The busy muggle streets beneath their windows had long since fallen silent when he had finally fallen asleep, replete, happy and completely exhausted.

"Good morning"

She was seated on the sofa, a pot of coffee and some warm rolls on the table before her. His stomach clenching with hunger Draco rolled off the bed, pulling the sheet around him, and joined her, still bleary eyed, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair .

At first she just let him eat, but as he demolished his third roll, she eyed him over the rim of her coffee cup.

"Draco – what happened to your back?"

He looked up, suddenly wary. In the showers at school he had always been careful to use a glamour to cover the scars which crisscrossed his back, shoulders and thighs. Last night, and this morning, the necessity had never crossed his mind. Now she had seen….

"It's nothing"

But her eyes held his "How old were you when your father first beat you?"

She had seen all of him now. It seemed useless to start lying at this point.

"I was five." He wasn't asking her for sympathy, this was all he had ever known, and the witches heart clenched with pity in response.

"My father found me playing with the gardener's son. '_Conduct unbecoming of a pure-blood, and a Malfoy'_." His sarcastic tone was bitter "Since then, quite regularly. Whenever Potter beat me at Quidditch, whenever Granger got better marks than me – how dare I be bettered by a blood traitor and a mudblood. Oh – and whenever I was afraid – which was often. I've spent my whole life disappointing him. Now I've failed the Dark Lord, refused the Dark Mark, and on top of everything else I've run away. I could never go back. He would kill me himself." He was horrified to hear the unmistakeable wobble in his voice.

Angrily – unwillingly he scrubbed away the tears. "Malfoys don't cry. Malfoys don't turn their back on their pure blood status." He was pacing the room now, still clad only in the sheet around his hips, which was unravelling rapidly. "I hate him – I've always hated him I think. I've been a snob and a git and bully. But I'm not one of them. I'm not a killer – but I've got nowhere else to go. I don't know what to do. Even my mother won't help. She loves me – but she's a pure blood, and no pure blood ever breaks ranks." He sighed in frustration. "I don't even believe in that pure-blood crap anymore – haven't done for years. How can I – when I'm constantly out-performed and out manoeuvred by a muggle born and a half blood. It doesn't even make any bloody sense!"

His anger induced energy failing, he subsided onto the bed, leaning his wet face against the bedpost.

"Maybe I should just hand myself back to The Dark Lord. With a bit of luck he might kill me quickly. If I'm unlucky he'll hand me over to my Aunt and her pet dog first". With a shudder he turned away, studying the clouds through the window, embarrassed by his wrenching candour.

"What about the Order of the Phoenix?"

He swung back to her, suddenly angry in his despair. "Potter! The Boy Wonder thinks I killed Dumbledore! He knows that I nearly killed that girl with the necklace, and the bloody Weasel with that mead. He'd have me in Azkaban before I could draw breath."

Morrigan's voice was carefully neutral "Would you help them – if you could?"

Draco's face was in his hands by now, muffling his voice. "Yes. I know that my only hope now is for Potter to defeat The Dark Lord. There's a lot I could tell them. But I wouldn't know where to start."

_"You could start by telling me where to find Voldemort!"_

Harry Potter's voice from the other end of the room projected Draco off the bed, and sent him leaping for his wand. But Morrigan was quicker. Intercepting him, she stilled him with a hand on his arm.

"It's alright Draco. I summoned Harry here this morning, under his invisibility cloak. I wanted him to know the truth. You wanted a way out – well maybe this is it"

Standing naked and wandless in front of his nemesis was not Draco's idea of a way out, but desperate wizards couldn't be choosers. Lifting his chin he turned and faced his arch-rival across the room.

"Put some clothes on for Merlin's sake Malfoy. We need to have our first adult conversation".

Behind him, he heard a pop as Morrigan – her work done – dissaparated.

_xx00xx_

_Ten years have gone by, since I looked in her eye but the memory lingers  
I go back in my mind, to the very first time,  
Feel the touch of her fingers._

The twenty-seven year old Head of the Department of Mysteries stepped away from the apparition point, into the sunny gardens of Malfoy Manor, taking a moment to breathe in the heady fragrance of a warm summer evening.

"_Daddy! Daddy!"_

Two year-old Scorpius, his shock of blonde curls on end, charged headlong across the lawn, hurling himself at his father's kneecaps. Picking him up, Draco smiled at his son's squeals of delight, as he swung him over his head. Pretending to drop him, Draco pulled his son into his arms, burying his face in the child's hair, listening to him chattering nineteen to the dozen.

"Aunty Ginny's here Daddy. And Tibby's made her special biscuits. We've kept some 'pecially for you see" opening his hand he looked down in dismay at the sticky crumbs that were all that had survived the journey across the garden. Looking back at his father, his big grey eyes filled with tears

"They bwoked Daddy" his bottom lip wobbled ominously.

"That's alright sweetheart. It was a very nice thing to do." Putting the child down and retrieving a handkerchief before his son and heir could wipe his sticky, crumby hands all over his tailored grey robes, Draco whispered in his ear "I bet Tibby's got some more back in the kitchen. Let's go and say hello to Mummy and Aunty Ginny, then we'll go and ask her shall we?"

" 'Kay Daddy." Walking slowly across the manicured lawns, Draco was content to listen to Scorpius's childish chatter. "Mummy's getting very fat now Daddy. I think she must be eating too many of Tibby's biscuits. Aunty Ginny says Unca' Harry's gone to watch Teddy playing Quidditch today, but he'll be here tomorrow with Teddy an' James an' Albus. And Mummy says we're going to have a barbe barb – sausages for dinner"

"Lovely" said his father with a smirk that entirely evaded his son's notice. Working with Harry and the Weasleys; finding the Horcruxes and ultimately vanquishing the Dark Lord, had done much to mend the wounds of the past, but the idea of the entire Potter contingent descending on the Manor for a muggle style barbecue was still enough to raise a delicate pure blooded shudder.

Walking through the archway into the rose garden, Draco found his wife and Ginny Potter sharing a pot of tea in the scented shade of the rose covered arbour.

"Hello darling" Hermione Malfoy hauled her swollen body out of the chair to greet her husband. At nearly ten months pregnant, it was no longer possible for him to hug her from the front, so he settled for hugging her from the back, burying his nose in her now-sleek dark curls. Reaching up he plucked a rose from the arbour, and with a swift de-thorning charm he tucked it behind her ear, before he moved to kiss Ginny, who was also pregnant, although not as far on as her friend.

"DADDY! BIKKITS! COME ON" Draco sighed. For all his Malfoy looks, Scorpius was as unstoppable as his mother sometimes.

"Excuse me ladies, we will leave you in peace. Scorpius and I are off in search of Tilly's legendary biscuits. Wish us luck on our epic quest" With a wink, Draco swung his son onto his shoulders and set off towards the house.

Returning to their tea, Hermione retrieved the rose from behind her ear, and turned it thoughtfully in her fingers. It's deep crimson petals were flawless, it's scent exquisite.

"Draco planted this rose the year we were married. It's his favourite". She looked up at her friend and smiled softly.

Ginny raised an eyebrow "Did you ever tell him?"

Abandoning their tea, the two pregnant women walked slowly across the grass. "No" Hermione admitted with a sideways grin. "I suppose I will do – one day. But I don't think I'm quite ready to answer his questions about my 'research' methods just yet. Going from 17 year old swotty schoolgirl to 31 year old sex goddess was a bit of a jump. Thank Merlin for your husband's randy godfather. A two week Christmas Holiday at Grimmauld Place with Sirius _'the Gryffindor Sex God' _Black was even better than the restricted section of Hogwarts Library, and Fred and George's legendary collection of pornography. I didn't realise then how glad I would be of it two years later."

Ginny choked. "I knew that Sirius was your first. But I didn't realise you were only 15! You bad little Gryffindor you"

"Well you know what they say" Hermione responded with a wink "it's the quiet ones you have to watch. I'm just surprised that Harry went for it. Desperation makes strange bedfellows. Literally in my case. It's a good think Ron never found out _exactly_ how Draco came to join the Order, or we would have had murder at Grimmauld Place. Come on, it's just too hot. Let's go inside where it's cool".

Still talking, the two women walked arm in arm up the steps and across the terrace, into the gracious old house."

The sunny garden was quiet.

_It was a hot afternoon, the last day of June, and the sun was a demon….._


End file.
